Abort, Retry, Fail
by ntrophi
Summary: Agent Smith, inbetween the two movies. Corruption isn't always a bad thing...
1. Deletion

**Author Note – **Hello, and welcome to my first Matrix fic. I'm still not quite used to the characters, and I'm usually a comedy writer, so if everything seems a little off compared to what you're used to, I apologise.

But yeah. Here's my take on what happens to Agent Smith (ol' loveable psycho that he is) between the two movies. There's more to come; I just wanted to get this up before I forgot about it. ^_^;;

I don't own Smithy, sadly. Don't sue me.

Feedback is always welcome, and free cookies to those who feel like giving me a review.

Enjoy, ne?

**Chapter 1 – **_"Deletion"_

He still didn't know what had gone wrong; what possible problem could have materialised in order for this to happen. Even as his program began to stabilise and everything began to shift back into focus, he still couldn't quite work out what had happened.

_Why?_

Why him? What had he done to deserve this; if he had been Human, he would have called it humiliating. To be destroyed by one of them; to be the first Agent in the Matrix to be destroyed. It was more than humiliating; it was something he couldn't quite put into words. He had executed his program perfectly; he had followed all the protocol. Why did it have to happen to him?

Something was humming somewhere near his left ear. It was the first sound – save his own somewhat tangled thoughts – he had heard since everything around him had exploded in a splash of colour. He couldn't quite shake the memory from what was supposed to be his mind. Everything had been so perfect; so flawless as always. Everything had been in his control; as everything had _always_ been in his control. But then. . . It had to be an anomaly of some sort; none of it made any kind of logical sense otherwise. Everything had lost its perfection; flaws had appeared in his program and all stability had been lost. It had been the most sickening experience he'd ever suffered; even worse than the dark desperation that had been slowly creeping over him in the last few years. It had felt like he was being pulled apart from a thousand different directions; he had clearly felt every part of him; every component separate from the others and be cast far away. After that. . . Nothing. There had been nothing. He wasn't even sure how long it had been since the error had occurred.

_How? How is this possible?_

The Human had been killed; he had made sure that the Human had been killed. No matter how many times he ran through all the possibilities; no matter how long he spent summing up all the potential causes and effects, he couldn't explain it. Not only had the Human defied one of the fundamental laws of the Matrix; that the human body could not possibly survive without the human mind, but it had also learnt how to defy the Matrix itself. Stopping bullets, fending off Smith's attack with seemingly no effort at all. Could it be that the human; that pitiful mortal was actually The One that the humans had been searching for? Smith knew vaguely of some extra protection mechanism that was built into the programming of the Matrix; some means of stopping the humans from ever escaping. But had the discovery of this "One"; this human who could so blatantly break all of the meticulous rules set within the Matrix; could this person destroy everything that Smith and his fellow Agents worked to protect? To someone who had just been practically destroyed, it certainly felt so. No. He didn't want to recall that again; he forced the data from his mind and concentrated on the sound, hoping to use it to drag him back into whatever reality he was in. Nothing changed. If anything, the humming grew quieter and Agent Smith – or what remained of him – grew angrier.

It took him several moments to realise that; to recognise this new sensation that coursed through whatever form he existed as right now. He was angry; truly, deeply angry. He had never been angry before; Agents were all programmed to have vague senses of some of the human emotions, but never to experience the true feeling of them. It was easier to protect the Matrix; to make decisions that benefited the machines and not the human captives, if you didn't have the weakness of emotion. But as the anger surged through him; reminded him that he still existed on some plane, Smith began to wonder. Was all emotion really all that weak? Of course, pitiful emotions that were unique to humans – love, friendship; such emotions that made one want to give themselves up so that others might have a chance of life – could never be considered strong. But the rage that was seeping through him, making his program feel alive again, made him feel strong again. It made him want to somehow survive this; it made him _need_ to survive it. He had to pull himself back together; he had to.

The anger changed; morphed into so many different feelings that it almost stunned him back into the darkness that had enveloped him in the moments following his corruption. He couldn't identify them all, but some fitted descriptions of human emotion he had studied before being inserted into the Matrix. There was the seething, burning rage that was now moving through his body; rage at himself for allowing a human to get the better of him. Anger at the human for daring to try and break free of what the machines had provided for his kind. There was something Smith vaguely recognised as pain; he was beginning to feel the very edges of the shell of a body his program provided for him. He was slowly pulling himself back together, but it hurt. The pain was new; intriguing; something Smith had never experienced before. His program had always blocked all means of feeling pain; it was easier for an Agent to throw themselves into a potentially fatal situation if they knew nothing of the agony that awaited. But now, something had changed; perhaps the error had unblocked all the pathways previously rendered useless by his program. For some reason, the pain gave Smith new strength; it gave him something more tangible than just sound to concentrate on. As the pain intensified around him, he knew that his return was continuing.

He could feel something he knew was hate, though it was barely distinguishable from the anger that still pulsed through him. Hatred for that human; for that stupid human. Hatred for the mainframe; for allowing something like this to happen. Hatred for his program, for being so weak. Hatred for so many things; it overshadowed everything else that had once been primary objectives to him. Protect the Matrix, stop the rebels, keep order. They all seemed like such insignificant goals now that he had failed.

Failure. Failure swarmed through him, bringing something he could possibly call humiliation and regret with it. If there was one thing Agents did not do, it was fail. He had done so. He had failed, and he had allowed his program to be compromised. He knew what that meant, and that triggered a new emotion; something he didn't even know he _could_ feel.

Fear.

_No_. As his body became more tangible to him; as everything swam back into focus; as Smith became Smith again, he began to feel nothing but that fear. Fear, desperation; both struck him almost as heavily as Anderson had, forcing to his knees. When had he stood up? When had he found the strength to stand? _That doesn't matter!_ he told himself, trying to find some sense of calm within the storm of emotion. He wasn't used to emotion; it was starting to hurt now. He needed to find the calm within; he needed to feel in control of everything again. 

_You failed._

_You're a failure._

_You're corrupted._

_They'll never let you stay within the Matrix now._

_Failure._

_It's the human's fault._

_It's your fault._

_He couldn't have survived._

_You shouldn't have survived._

_Go back to the Source. Back to the Source. You know what awaits you there._

Agent Smith's eyes opened suddenly and he saw exactly what awaited him there. He saw it as clearly as if it were happening to him that very second. No. He didn't want to go to the Source. He couldn't go back there; he wouldn't. He didn't want to be deleted.

He didn't want to die.

_You failed._ Smith vaguely recognised the hum of information; his program translating it into audible form. His earpiece; the one thing that kept him connected to everything; the Matrix; the mainframe; the constant flow of data that he _needed_ in order to exist. _You will go to the Source._ He got to his feet; his head turning towards the direction of the Source. No! They couldn't still have this control over him; they couldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do. They weren't going to force him to die; they weren't going to delete him. He wasn't going to let them. He wasn't going to be their pawn anymore.

He stopped where he was, using every ounce of strength and newfound will to force his vision away from the door to his left. Just a door, but he knew what lay behind it; he knew what awaited him there. There was a crackle in his ear. _You will go to the Source._ Almost entirely against his will, Smith found himself turning and stepping towards the door; his face contorting into a mixed expression of fear and utter rage.

'I will not,' he muttered through gritted teeth; his right arm moving slowly towards his ear. Another burst of static; another burst of orders. _You know what will happen if you disconnect from the mainframe._ Smith knew full well, but dying by his own hands was far more preferable to being forced through the deletion process. He remained silent and kept all his focus on his hand. _You wish to betray the Matrix; the Matrix that you are programmed to protect? You wish to disobey your primary protocol?_ Protocols, programs. He was sick of it all; he didn't want to be ruled by them anymore. If he was stuck in the Matrix, he was going to be in complete control of himself.

'I don't. . . care,' His words surprised himself; actually hearing them made him realise just what he was doing. But he _didn't_ care anymore. _You have been corrupted._ He was so close; he could almost touch the earpiece. But his control over his legs had waned and he found himself frighteningly close to the door that held his doom. _You are nothing more than an error now; an error that defies all logic. You are an anomaly._ So he had become what he hated most. He had become the antithesis of order and control; that human had forced him to defy that which had ruled him for an eternity and had turned him into the one thing he wished to rid existence of. An anomaly. An irregularity.

Just like Mr Anderson.

He was so close to the door now; he could feel it pulling him in. _The Matrix must be free of all anomalies. You are no longer needed._

His hand closed around the earpiece, and he ripped it away. Almost immediately, the world around him became vague and unfamiliar without the endless flow of data he was used to. But with that came an extraordinary new feeling; a powerful feeling of control and order over himself.

He was free.

He collapsed back to his knees; his fist clasped tightly around the earpiece.

'It is you who are no longer needed,' he murmured, watching with some interest as everything began to darken and fade around the edges of his vision. Anomaly he might be, but he was not useless. He had a score to settle; he had to thank Mr Anderson for all of this. And then he had to rid the Matrix of all irregularities; himself included.


	2. Duplication

**Author note:** I always did like favourable feedback, so I tried to get this up as quickly as I could. I'm having a little trouble regarding internet connections and being able to get my work uploaded, so bear with me, ne? 

Bit of a change of tone compared to the first chapter. It's less Smith being angsty and more him discovering certain things about himself. Knowing my luck, all of this will be explained in glorious detail in "Revolutions" but until then I can believe that I'm at least halfway right *grin* 

Does anyone know how much time there's supposed to be between the first movie and "Reloaded"? It's not essential, but it would be nice to know, so I can figure out what sort of timeframe I'm working in. Thanks in advance.

I don't own Smith, Jones or Brown (cameos are fun though) so just. . . don't sue me. I'm having enough trouble paying rent as it is.

Once again, feedback is nice and makes me want to write. I have extra special cookies for reviewers now *waves them in front of you all* 

Enjoy, ne?

**Chapter 2** _– "Duplication"_

He wasn't sure how long it had been since his fall into freedom; it was difficult to keep track of everything without the mainframe to remind him. But he didn't particularly care; to him, every second spent free and unhindered by those still plugged into the Matrix was one second closer to achieving his goal. _Rid the Matrix of the anomalies,_ he thought with a slightly smug smile, as if hearing the words in his mind further reinforced his determination. As with every goal he set himself, it was something he _would_ achieve, but he didn't have the incessant reminder of deadlines and other tasks to distract him. He could take his time with this; he could ensure that everything worked perfectly.

He could savour it.

Just like he was savouring the sight around him. He'd never had time to truly admire what lay around them; to marvel at the sheer magnificence of the prison he now had no chance of escaping. Of course, he had studied it every second of his former life (which what he was now referring to his time spent as an Agent as) but he had never really _savoured_ it. He had never really looked at it and seen how perfect it truly was. He was currently sat on a bench in the area the humans called a park; just watching them as they went about their business. They never even suspected that something was wrong with the world around them; none of them had any clue just how insignificant and purposeless their lives were. It almost made him want to laugh; something he had been resisting for some time now. How humans lived with emotions and didn't go insane was beyond him; his corrupted program was still trying to get used to the thousands of input signals these emotions generated. Sometimes, reality slipped a little and he almost lost control over what he had left. But his control was something he prided himself on; something _they_ would never make him lose. And he was coping better now; a sudden flash of emotion didn't leave him stunned and gasping for breath as it had done in the first few days. Showing these emotions was still nearly impossible; an eternity of remaining impassive was difficult to leave behind and Smith's expressions still consisted of a sharp glare or a smug smirk. Well, he had time to work on that.

He had all the time in the world.

His thoughts moved idly over what he was going to do now; how he was going to implement the first step of his plan. He, of course, was now at a major disadvantage compared with his past self. He no longer had the immense flow of data that he had once relied on so heavily. He was only just beginning to realise _how_ heavily. After being part of a team that numbered hundreds, being cast out on your own with no source of information was both un-nerving and irritating. He couldn't help but sigh slightly as he realised that he would no longer be alerted of the presence of Human rebels or other Agents. That was certainly a problem; he had found it hard enough to track down certain elements of the rebel forces even with the mainframe's help. Alone and uninformed, what chance did he stand?

And then there was the problem of Agents. They would be after him, no doubt. After all, he was nothing but an anomaly; another threat to the order and control that they held so dear. It wouldn't matter to them that he was essentially one of them; nothing mattered to them but the orders being constantly fed to them. _Fools,_ he thought, slowly standing and moving away from the bench. He'd had enough of the park. He could only put up with so much Human-watching before he began to get nauseous. _Some things never change,_

And so, he was faced with numerous problems; problems that might force a lesser program to search for help or stop altogether. But Smith was not lesser; not now he had found his freedom. He would solve these problems. He had to, otherwise he would find himself without a purpose.

It didn't take him long to get away from the never-ending hordes of Human filth; there always seemed to be so many deserted alleys and concrete yards in this part of the city. Part of the Matrix's design, he supposed. There were many "spots" in the program that appeared invisible to the Human senses; places of no great importance, but places where sentient programs were first "loaded" into the Matrix. A person appearing suddenly in the middle of a crowded street was not exactly subtle and tended to cause alarm in the Human population. Such mistakes had been made – and learnt from – early on, hence the existence of the very place Smith was going to. He had to conduct a few experiments before he embarked on his new mission.

He reached the "spot" – a dimly lit basketball court – and paused for a moment. He had to check if his program still ran the same way it had. He had gained certain things from his corruption; he had to examine himself and see if he had lost anything too. It wouldn't be wise to get into a clash with Agents or rebels if his program had deteriorated and become fragile. He had fought death once already, and once was more than enough for him.

First, a test of st --

He paused again, brow furrowing slightly as he strained to listen to the silence around him. His senses hadn't been dulled by the corruption; he knew faint, deliberate footsteps when he heard them.

He turned – slowly – and almost allowed himself a lapse in control as he saw the Agent stood not ten feet away from him; his empty stare on Smith. The former Agent managed something of a slight smirk; a marvel considering the thoughts streaming through his mind. So much for not throwing himself into a fight; it appeared the fight wanted to come to him. Some part of him – the new, emotional part no doubt – wanted to run; made him rather save himself than keep his pride. Smith had never run from a fight; never. He wasn't about to start now.

'Agent Brown,' he said with an acknowledging nod, a little surprised not to see Agent Jones lurking somewhere around. The mainframe usually sent Agents out in pairs or triplets so that if they encountered a group of rebels, it would not be too difficult to subdue them all. Brown had only been inserted into the Matrix a few months before Smith's fall; the mainframe definitely didn't allow such inexperienced Agents to be wandering around on their own. Smith quirked a brow, but that was the only sign of his surprise. An Agent on its own - especially one as raw as Brown – might not be such a bad thing after all. As long as his program hadn't been too compromised, and he still had all the abilities he was used to. . . Yes, he had a chance.

'The anomaly,' Brown stated coldly, one hand going to his ear as he listened to some crackle of an order. Smith's smirk grew. Yes, the mainframe _was_ hunting him after all. The younger Agent's sharp glare returned to Smith. 'You are to be terminated,' That did it; the urge to laugh that had been bubbling up for some time finally overcame that little bit of control Smith still had left and he couldn't help but chuckle loudly.

'And I suppose _you're going to be the one to do it, Agent Brown?' he said, placing rather too much emphasis on his opponent's name. Brown remained impassive._

'If you will not return freely,' he started slowly. 'Then you must be returned by force,' 

Something of a stand-off followed, neither Smith or Brown willing to strike first. Smith was busy trying to think how he was going to get out of this. He knew – better than anyone – that Agents were near indestructible. No-one, save Mr Anderson, had ever come anywhere near harming an Agent, let alone destroying them. Mind you, he had never seen one Agent fight another. Supposedly, they were all evenly matched; the basic program assigned to them all was the same. Only the programming of an Agent's appearance differed between them all, and even that wasn't much of a change. However, you could always tell a rookie Agent from a veteran because the veteran had the experience of how to fully manipulate the Matrix; how to survive in this environment. Of course, all Agents were taught how to use the Matrix to their favour before being inserted, but being told and actually doing so were two completely different things; even for a machine. Smith would have the upper hand; he had no doubt of that. But the fact still remained that it would be impossible for him to destroy the other Agent. _Unless. . .. Unless. . . _

The thought never had time to materialise as Brown charged; his left hand curled into a fist and raised, ready to strike. Smith dodged it easily, his own fist connecting with Brown's mid-section, sending the Agent flying.

'It would appear the mainframe doesn't make Agents like it used to,' Smith quipped, the familiar smirk settling its way onto his face as Brown pulled himself to his feet and attacked again; this time pulling his gun from inside his jacket and firing. Smith didn't have time to wonder if he still had the ability to dodge bullets as old habits kicked in and time seemed to slow around him. Of course, Smith knew time wasn't really slowing; the Matrix itself was bending to his will, allowing him to duck and weave out of the way. It wasn't even his will; it was some intricate facet of his program that allowed him to access aspects of the Matrix and control those aspects. To a human, it would have seemed like magic, but that was one of their faults. Never wishing to explain things rationally; always more willing to believe foolish notions than the more logical answer.

Usually, he might not have dodged so readily; instead choosing to attack and sacrifice the body he was in. His only worry was that – now he was disconnected from the Matrix – he wouldn't be able to leap into a new body once this one had been destroyed. So he played it safe and continued to dodge until he saw Brown remarkably close to him. The Agent attacked with a flurry of punches and kicks; a barrage that would have stopped any human in their tracks. But seeing Brown's next attack was strangely easy for Smith, who held back until an opening in the agent's defence appeared.

A moment later, the Agent flew across the yard again, this time crashing through one of the walls. Smith had to fight the old instinct to go in for the kill; in this case, there _was_ no kill. He had to try and escape; there was no point in wasting his time fighting a battle he couldn't truly win. So, with a snarl, he turned and began to run back the way he had come.

It didn't take him long to reach the busy, crowded streets again; somewhere that suddenly struck him as a bad place to be. Odd. He was used to crowded streets being the best place he could be; when chasing a rebel, there was nowhere better to make them run than to a busy street. When surrounded with people, it was so much simpler to leap from body to body, eventually tracking the rebel and taking them easily. But now, Smith realised, _he was the rebel who had taken a wrong turn. Getting out of here would be a prudent idea._

He started to run, thankful that his memory files hadn't been corrupted and he still knew the city like the back of his proverbial hand. But he didn't need to look around to know that Brown was following; jumping from human to human in an attempt to track Smith better. This was useless; he wasn't going to get away like this. It might work for the rebels, but they always had somewhere to escape _to_. Smith was just running blindly.

A shot went off somewhere frighteningly close to his left shoulder; Smith ducked reflexively, ignoring the urge to reach for his own gun (which he had quickly discovered was no longer in its usual place) He had to use Brown's own tactic against him; he had to leap. So what if it didn't work? What was the worst that could happen?

He wouldn't realise until later that this decision had been made rather rashly and that the whole thought process surrounding it was completely irrational. Something had changed; something had made him lose the respect and faith he had in total logic. Something had made him more. . . human.  Oddly enough, the thought both sickened and intrigued him.

Smith fixed his gaze on a human, who was trying to crawl away from the scene into a more deserted alley, some twenty feet from him. This was going to be harder than he had thought; usually he would be able to use the mainframe to help him lock in on a human body. Aiming by himself, while running from a pursuer, wasn't proving to be easy. But he had to try. There was no point in running blindly; he knew all too well that Brown wasn't going to give up the chase that easily. So, more hopeful than anything, he began the process.

Agent Brown could only frown slightly as he watched the anomaly attempt a body change. The mainframe had assured him that such a thing was impossible for one who was no longer connected; that such an attempt would result in something close to death. Indeed, at first it appeared that something had gone wrong; the anomaly remained exactly where he was, not moving into another body as was its intent.

_The anomaly has rendered itself inoperative_. The buzz from the mainframe might have sounded triumphant if it had been possible for it to have a tone. _Now is when you will terminate it. Brown stepped forwards through the now nearly cleared street. Gunshots had a remarkable way of clearing any unwanted humans away. The anomaly had collapsed to its knees now; gasping in something Brown would have called pain, had he known of such a thing. He moved to stand over it; his gun aimed down at it._

'All anomalies must be removed,' he said.

Everything had been fine; he had been able to feel his program moving from one body to the other. But it hadn't finished; something had interrupted or interfered or terminated the application. All Smith knew was that some part of him was trapped between bodies, and that what was left of him _hurt_. He hadn't been able to stop himself from falling to the ground; all thoughts of escape halted for the moment. Part of him was missing; part of him was gone. That was what hurt; that was what was ripping through him.

He heard the click of a gun behind him and felt the cool steel up against his temple. The desire to run flared up again, but the empty feeling inside stopped him. He couldn't leave while incomplete; he couldn't do anything while a part of him was missing. Frantically, he turned, staring up at Brown for a moment as time seemed to stand still around them. _Why hasn't he fired yet?_ Smith thought, before dismissing the thought and doing the only thing that came to mind. He reached up and grabbed a handful of Brown's jacket; his other hand moving to punch the Agent in the chest.

He had no idea what happened next; even when he sat and thought long and hard about it later, he couldn't work out what exactly had happened. Briefly, he felt resistance from the shell of the Agent's body, but then there was nothing but the program within. And then. . . Then he was whole again; for a split second, he was whole again. But Brown resisted; trying to pull back. Smith didn't want to lose himself again, so he tightened his grip on whatever he was holding inside the Agent's body. He wasn't going to be incomplete. He wasn't going to die.

Brown's expression suddenly changed; from struggling anger to something that looked like shock. And then, his _face_ began to change; the very shape and texture of his face started to morph. Smith watched - with a feeling halfway between awe and fear – as the face changed to resemble one he knew all too well.

His own.

The very stature of the Agent before him began to change; the very essence of him. Smith could almost feel the code within Brown changing; changing what Brown _was_. And – to both their surprise – Brown was changing into Smith. No, Brown had _changed_ into Smith; Brown had _become_ Smith, and neither of them could quite believe it. The original Smith could only frown; ignorant of the fact that the pain had gone now, and been replaced by something. . . something he would never be able to find a name for. It was a feeling; something he had never heard of in human emotion. It was the knowledge that he had created something. No, created wasn't the right word. What was one of the theories that humans had come up with; that all living things existed to pass on their genes; to make sure that they continued to live on through their offspring. Survival of the fittest. Smith realised, as he drew away from the being before him, that he had just become more like the humans than he wanted to admit. He had somehow copied himself; replaced the code within Agent Brown with his own. He was making sure that he was going to survive; even if he were destroyed, some part of him would live on through the copy he made.

'Remarkable,' he said. The copy tilted its head to one side, in what Smith suddenly realised was an imitation of what he himself was doing.

'Indeed,' it replied, wearing the smirk that Smith knew he had worn a million times in the past. An idea dawned on him. Who needed the mainframe when you had the ability to create an entire army of yourself? Who needed untrustworthy Agents and unreliable data from the centre of the Matrix, when you could have hundreds of copies of yourself; copies of someone you _knew you could trust? He couldn't help but laugh again, watched by the copy he had just created._

Who needed any of it? He had himself.

Agent Jones was confused. Well, confused perhaps wasn't the right word, but he lacked any other word to describe it. He and Agent Brown had been separated earlier in the day; Jones splitting off to deal with a lone rebel that had been discovered in their sector. During his absence, the mainframe told him, Brown had been alerted to the presence of one of the two anomalies, and had given chase.

What happened next wasn't clear to Jones; the mainframe's briefing for the situation had been surprisingly short. He knew Brown had tracked the anomaly to this street; this street that was now bathed in darkness and free of any life at all. Then, _something_ had happened; something that the mainframe couldn't quite explain. Jones had heard it through his earpiece; _felt_ it through the Matrix. It had almost been the same feeling Jones had experienced when the human anomaly had attacked Agent Smith; it was the same sort of unfamiliar ripple that had surged through the program around him. Something had happened between the anomaly and Agent Brown, and that something had resulted in the complete disappearance of the Agent. Jones was here to try and work out what had gone on here; why the mainframe had lost track of both Agent Brown and the anomaly.

'There is no sign of the anomaly,' he said quietly, 'Or Agent Brown,' It didn't make any sense; nothing had been able to completely disappear from the mainframe before; especially not Agents who, by nature, were connected directly to it. 

_Rebels have been sighted in sector seven,_ the mainframe said. It was less of a statement and more of an order. Jones' services were required elsewhere now. He turned slowly, a slight frown touching his otherwise emotionless features. No. There was no point even thinking about Brown anymore; just as there was no need to consider Agent Smith anymore. They were both disconnected; both just ghosts floating around the Matrix now. Just anomalies. Just as bad as the humans his attention was now fixed on. If they turned up again, he would consider them, but until that moment came, he wiped the data from his mind.

Just anomalies.


End file.
